


burn, there's no other way

by nezstorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Demonic Possession, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Nogitsune Effects, Trans Character, Trans Stiles Stilinski, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: When Stiles and the Nogitsune separate, the body Stiles is left with is more than he ever thought he'd have.---Please read the note below and mind the tags.





	burn, there's no other way

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read the story please keep in mind that the topic is a sensitive and controversial one and written from Stiles' POV. His feelings on the matter are his own and completely subjective. Stiles' views as shown in this fic aren't very healthy and could be considered gender essentialist.  
> I don't believe that your body determines your gender, neither do the clothes you wear or the way you present yourself. It is all up to you and you are the only one who has a say in the matter.  
> Please tread carefully and if you feel like this fic might trigger you in any way please opt out of reading it.  
> ALSO  
> Huge thanks to Mal for helping me along the way, listening to my whining and insecurities, and editing this piece. I wouldn't be able to do it without you.

He’ll never be as he really is. He’s tired of feeling elated every time someone uses the right pronoun or calls him  _ Sir _ . He’s tired of people doubting, second-guessing themselves when talking to him for the first, for the tenth time, no matter if they’re talking to or about him. He’s so tired of people denying him, correcting  _ him _ . Like they know best who lives in his head.

 

He’s tired of hiding his body even from himself, the person in the mirror always so wrong no matter how he binds, how he dresses, how he cuts his hair.

 

All he ever really wanted was to be himself. Not his father’s son, not his mother’s baby boy. Just. Himself.

 

For himself.

 

He hates.

 

With all that he is he hates the shackles they’ve all put him in.

 

His face is too round and soft still. He looks fragile, and although that’s how he feels most days he want others to look at him and for first impression to be “lithe for a guy”, “soft for a dude”.

 

“He” and “him” and “his”.

 

He hates the moments he himself slips the most.

 

He hates that even  _ he  _ sometimes doubts who he is.

  
  


\---

  
  
  


When it's over, or well, his mind is his own, but at the cost of the Nogitsune taking Lydia. When it's finally only him moving his limbs (he hopes it's just him, he's counted his shaking fingers so many times) and has the chance to pull off the clothes he's been puked out in-- for once he's relieved that Melissa was too scared of him to check him over beyond the barest minimum.

 

Because, when he sheds all the layers he usually confines himself in, the body he sees is not his own. It's  _ his.  _ Not--

 

His fingers flutter against his chest, nervous before his first time touching it. He takes a deep breath, then another and just  _ pokes  _ at his  _ pec _ . It's firm, firmer than the soft tissue of the breasts that were always a barrier when he was looking down at himself whenever he was naked. He plucks at the nipple, pinches and pulls until it hurts, and he gasps because it's just as sensitive as always but the pain makes him believe--

 

He almost topples onto the bathroom tile in his haste to take his pants off to see. 

 

It's a dick just as any other he has seen in porn. Average size and thickness, though he's still soft and hanging limp, and there's even foreskin which Stiles just has to touch and feel for himself. It spirals from there.

 

He comes all over the tile and the pants still hanging around his legs, hands clutching at the edge of the sink. He huffs when he realizes his panting made the mirror fog up, and he wipes it with his hand and stares at the man the world will finally accept.

 

It's the body he wished to have in place of the one he was born with. It's the body he could never have no matter how many surgeries he'd have or how much T he'd inject.

 

It's the body the Nogitsune left him with, and as that thought sinks in Stiles wonders what price he’ll have pay to keep it.

  
  


\---

  
  


He doesn’t have much time to consider all of the things that could go wrong. His body may  _ look _ better, but he’s weak, cold and paler than ever like he’s about to pay for it all with death.

 

Deep in the corner of his mind, he still feels a connection the the fox demon, like tails brushing gently over his tender insides. He tries not to focus on it too much because it makes him gag, makes his new skin crawl. 

 

He focuses on how much bigger and more angular his fingers now are instead. 

 

He hopes it’s a permanent change. That it’s not a gift that’ll be taken away the moment they get rid of the fox, or an illusion that’ll scatter on the wind.

 

Stiles doubts he’d survive getting a taste of this only to-- he can’t even imagine it. He doubts he’d make it through.

 

There’s a flickering sensation of a laugh in the back of his mind, distant and mean, victorious. He tries not to think about that as well. 

  
  


\---

  
  
  


They get Lydia back, her screams still echoing in their heads. Allison is dead. 

 

Soon so is Aiden, and Scott is sinking his fangs in Stiles’ very own copy of himself.

 

Or maybe he’s the copy now. Edited. Adjusted.

 

Lydia is still clutching at him, crying into the curve of his neck, as he wonders if now that the original is gone he’ll crumble himself. 

 

If it’s  _ his _ time to disappear.

  
  


\---

 

He can still remember just how it felt-- Allison’s death; the link between him and the Nogitsune thrumming with pleasure and satisfaction, like an orgasm that just wouldn’t end. 

 

Tasted a lot like bile for hours after.

 

It makes him wonder if he could ( _ should _ ) exchange his body for her survival. If that was a back up plan of sorts, a distraction, but he missed his chance.

 

The window has been now closed for days, no more opportunities for them to change the outcome, no easy fixes for their heavy hearts.

 

Stiles is still on the brink of breaking at the first hint of change in his new status quo. 

 

He shouldn’t be able to even look in the mirror, but he can’t stop. His friends are gone or grieving, and here he is: reborn, remodeled. Better.

 

He is  _ he _ . 

 

There are moments when he wants to tear his skin off, flay strips of it and lay it on the Nemeton, appease the tree and beg to give them back what they shouldn’t have lost. 

 

He feels guilty at times, feels like Scott and Lydia and Allison, everybody else-- like they’ve all paid the price so he wouldn’t have to.

 

And they’re not even aware of it at all.

 

Scott catches him fresh out of the shower one day, a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else because he thought he was alone, and doesn’t blink twice. His dad tells him to put on a shirt after seeing him without one (because he  _ can do that now, _ without uncomfortable bouncing and skin sticking to skin) so he doesn’t catch a cold.

 

As if a bout of sniffles is something Stiles could ever be worried about anymore.

 

He asks some probing question, finds his birth certificate and looks himself up online, and stops counting his fingers in fear this new reality will break, too.

  
  


\---

  
  


There are days when he thinks that he shouldn’t ever tell anyone the truth because he deserves to have this. He went through so much shit, has been beaten, kidnapped, almost killed,  _ possessed by a trickster demon that spent weeks impersonating him and plundering his mind _ .

 

This should have always been his. His body always such. They’re all going to get themselves killed by one calamity or the next.

 

This is his gift.

 

So what if the Nogitsune’s laugh still echoes in his head sometimes, or if he gets phantom sensations of hands following his as he explores. So what if some of the thoughts in his head don’t resemble his own.

 

So what if he’s never alone in the mirror anymore, and his footsteps double sometimes.

 

He is he.


End file.
